


Dancing in the dark

by deathorthetoypiano



Series: Pretending [2]
Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 22:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathorthetoypiano/pseuds/deathorthetoypiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lix has been keeping an eye on Freddie since he came home from hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing in the dark

The door was locked, just as she had left it two nights before. The empty whisky bottle sat untouched on the table, beside two glasses smeared with fingerprints and lipstick. The curtains were closed, despite the afternoon sun doing its best to break through. Flowers wilted in a vase on the table, just as she knew they would when the neighbour had brought them. Fruit sweated in a bowl on the kitchen counter. Nothing at all had moved. She called out, but there was no reply. Frowning, she made her way through the flat to the bedroom door, and knocked loudly. “Freddie?” She heard a mumbled reply and let herself in. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realised that he probably had not left the bed since she had put him in it. “Freddie, it’s me.”

He groaned and rolled onto his back, blinked a few times, and reached out for her. She perched gingerly on the edge of the bed, and let him take her hand, running her thumb absentmindedly over his knuckles. “Time is it?” he asked, pulling at her hand until she shifted nearer to him, then resting his head on her thigh.

“About six,” she replied softly. “On Friday. Have you got out of bed at all since I left?” He shook his head, and winced. She stroked his hair away from his forehead. “Eaten?” He said nothing. “Oh darling you must. I’ll make some toast.” She stood up, pretending not to notice how reluctant he was to let go of her hand, and left the room. When she returned, he eyed her suspiciously from beneath the sheets. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s just toast, darling. Please.” He humoured her, managing the best part of a piece before crawling closer to her, and put his head in her lap.

“So tired, Lix,” he sighed.

“I know, darling,” she whispered, shifting slightly to let him get more comfortable, and stroking his hair, wondering how on earth they got here. “I know.” 

******

“You need to do something,” she admonished gently. “I know it’s difficult but you’ll never get better if you stay there.”

He groaned and rolled onto his belly, pulling the blankets up over himself. “No, don’t care,” he growled into the pillow, and he didn’t see her creep onto the end of the bed. “Oi! Get off!” She laughed, rolling away from him and tugging the blankets with her. “I knew I should have given Sissy the key, not you,” he complained.

She rolled her eyes and settled on her back, staring up at the ceiling as she lit a cigarette stolen from the bedside table. “You don’t mean that,” she replied confidently. “She would never have let you have whisky.”

“Might have fed me more than chips and the odd satsuma, though,” he countered, rolling to steal the blanket back. But his balance was still off, and he hurtled into her, just managing to catch himself before he rolled on top of her completely. She stretched a slender arm out to keep the lit end of the cigarette away from his skin, and held her breath, looking up at him with sudden seriousness, pretending to herself as much as to him that she was not intensely aware of his thigh pressed against hers, of his chest weighing down on her arm, of his lips so temptingly close. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and dragged himself out of bed, as far from her as possible, and began to dress himself. She moved to help him, but he waved her away. “I can do it,” he told her. They both knew that the assurance was more for his own sake than hers, so she smoked another two cigarettes and pretended not to watch him. Finally, he stood near her feet. “Alright?” he asked, gesturing down at himself.

“Wonderful,” she told him with a smile, and she really did mean it.

******

They walked in the dark, Freddie navigating cobblestones, pavements and corners with excruciating difficulty. His arm was tucked safely through hers, ostensibly because he needed the support, though they both knew that it was not the only reason. They stopped in a pub and sat at a dark corner table with glasses of whisky, ignoring the curious looks from the other drinkers. Another few hundred yards, another pub, more scrutiny. She could feel his agitation even when they were not touching. They stopped on a bridge over the canal, and looked down at the murky water, and she wondered if they were both considering how many of Cilente’s victims lay at its bottom, or whether she really was as insane as she feared. Another pub, another whisky, and this time they spoke a little more. Being outside seemed to be clearing away some of the fear that haunted him. The other drinkers looked at them less, now that they seemed a little more normal. She decided that he had had exercise enough, and they wound their way home through little residential streets, startling the odd cat here, and pretending not to be unnerved by it, but seeing nobody else.

But when they passed under an open window, he stopped. “Listen,” he urged her, and she did, thrilled to see the familiar twinkle in his eyes. Out of the window floated music, jazz-like but gentle and swaying. For a while, they listened, and looked at each other, and at the stars and at the night around them, but mostly at each other, and when he moved, she thought he wanted to go home. But instead, he bowed. “Miss Storm,” he said dramatically, taking her hand with a flourish, “Please may I have the honour of this dance?”

They clung tightly to each other, turning in the dark until long after the music had stopped and the chill in the air threatened to reach their bones, the sky above them darker than she had seen in a long time, speckled with bright little stars. Finally she pulled away, just a little. “I’d forgotten,” she whispered, “how lovely it is to dance in the dark.” She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and, as she pulled away, their eyes met, they smiled, and they knew that, now, neither of them was pretending.


End file.
